


A Rainy Day Aesthetic

by lostinmorewaysthan1



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Original Fiction, Other, Short Story, aesthetic, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinmorewaysthan1/pseuds/lostinmorewaysthan1
Summary: A short story of a rainy day.





	A Rainy Day Aesthetic

The energy of the rainy day hums in the air. The rumble of the city’s morning commute matches up with the thunder’s long rolling booms. Small droplets fall from the sky, a warning of the storm coming. They cling to cars, window panes, and blades of grass, hitting the ground. Passerby hurry down the sidewalk, hoping to make it to their destination before the rain comes down hard. 

Inside my apartment, the kettle screams from the stove, alerting me to the fact that my tea is ready. I pour it out into a mug, and return to my previous station by the window. The warmth of the drink seeps through the ceramic, warming my hands as I continue watching the city go on in it’s lulling average routine through the storm. A breeze drifts through the cracked open window, and the sweet scent of damp earth drifts through the window. 

With the breeze comes a chill into the apartment, making me wrap the misshapen white wool blanket I had gotten Christmas around my shoulders. 

I shut the window, and small flakes of paint fall from the border flutter down to a spot behind the radiator, which was just beginning to hum to life, where even the vacuum can’t reach. This apartment really needs a new paint job, but that’s not a chore for today. Picking up my current read, I settle down into the sagging armchair I had gotten when I was a freshman in college, which, defying all logic, is still intact and comfortable. The book is a hardback, and a well loved and old book. It's been my favorite ever since I was younger. The corners are rounded and beat up and the dust jacket is ripped and faded. I curl up into a ball and nestle the cup on my chest, a perfect distance away from my mouth. I prop the book open, enjoying the musty smell that wafts up to my nose. The creamy pages rub against my fingers every time I turn them. 

Outside, the rain begins to pound on my window like a relentless baseball pitcher is hurling balls at it. In the distance I see a fork of lightning tear across the sky. In the street, business people are running with their briefcases clutched over their heads, hoping their suits won’t get wet. A few children were laughing and darting around in the downpour, running away from their mothers who were trying to catch them and stay under their umbrella. A few people are reaching into their bags and pulling out small handheld umbrellas like nature’s most wonderful gift and worst curse isn’t not at this very moment lashing against them. Within a few minutes, the sidewalks are almost empty. I return to my book, awash with the words, until the storm calms down.


End file.
